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M5&2 


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Trffij?  rffte  rr^fc;  rffiL?.  :rjT?s  rr^  - rr^- 


Corning  anb  |Tabor. 

LIBRARY 


OF  THE 

University  of  Illinois. 

CLASS.  BOOK.  VOLUME. 


£»^  AViW-  9 3-TTV 


Accession  No. 


QHE  FAEM 


OF 


TWO  ACRES. 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


■# 


NEW  YORK: 

BENCE  AND  HUNTINGTON. 

1865. 


NOTE. 


The  following  pages  were  contributed  by  the  celebrated  Miss 
Martineatj  to  the  London  periodical,  “ Once  a Week.”  The  local 
nature  of  the  experiences  recorded  will  not,  it  is  believed,  affect  their 
value  to  American  readers.  ^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLlNOfS 
AGRICULTURE  LIBRARY 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


TERRAIN  AND  TILLAGE. 

Half  a century  ago  there  was  a good  deal  of  sauciness 
in  the  temper  and  manners  of  people  who  had  the  man- 
agement of  land.  The  great  land-owners  were  introdu- 
cing improvements,  the  small  farmers  were  giving  up  an 
unprofitable  game,  and  the  large  farmers — trusting  in  the 
Corn-laws — claimed  to  have  their  own  way,  did  not  care 
to  study  their  art,  unless  they  lived  near  Mr.  Coke  or  the 
Duke  of  Bedford,  and  laughed  at  everybody  who  at- 
tempted tillage  on  a small  scale. 

This  sauciness  brought  out  William  Cobbett,  with  his 
strong  spirit  of  antagonism,  to  contradict  every  insolent 
saying,  and  almost  every  received  maxim  of  the  class ; 
and  he  broadly  and  positively  declared  that  a cow  and 
pig  could  be  kept  on  a quarter  of  an  acre  of  land.  He 
explained  in  detail  how  this  might  be  done ; and  a great 
number  of  people  have  followed  his  instructions,  finding, 
for  the  most  part,  that  though  the  thing  might  be  prac- 
ticable for  one  year,  or  occasionally  at  intervals,  it  is  not 
true  that,  one  year  with  another,  a cow  and  pig  can  be 
kept  on  a quarter  of  an  acre  of  land.  Since  the  repeal 


4 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


of  the  Corn-laws,  great  changes  have  taken  place  in  the 
general  mind  as  to  what  quantity  of  land  will  and  will 
not  repay  the  efforts  of  the  husbandman.  The  prodi- 
gious improvements  which  have  been  introduced  into 
agriculture  have  benefited  small  properties  as  well  as 
large;  and  the  same  science  and  art  which  render  it 
good  economy  to  expend  thousands  of  pounds  on  the 
tillage  of  a large  farm,  enable  the  intelligent  husbandman 
to  obtain  from  a few  roods  an  amount  of  value  which 
nobody  but  Cobbett  dreamed  of  in  the  last  generation. 
We  do  not  know  that  the  regular  “ small-farming”  of  a 
former  century  has  as  yet  revived  among  us ; the  com- 
petition of  the  holder  of  thirty  or  fifty  acres  with  the 
tenant  of  a thousand : but  the  experiment  of  making  the 
most  of  two  or  three  acres  is  at  present  one  which  at- 
tracts a good  deal  of  attention.  There  are  few  signs  of 
the  times  in  economy  and  social  affairs  more  thoroughly 
worthy  of  the  interest  it  has  excited. 

There  are  two  classes  of  persons,  broadly  speaking,  to 
whom  this  experiment  is  of  consequence — the  husband- 
man who  lives  by  his  land,  and  gentry,  especially  ladies, 
who  happen  to  have  a little  ground  attached  to  their 
dwellings,  from  which  it  is  just  as  well  to  derive  comfort 
and  luxury,  or  pecuniary  profit,  as  hot.  Two  remarkable 
and  very  interesting  statements  have  been  published  on 
the  part  of  these  two  classes ; and  I,  the  present  writer, 
am  about  to  offer  a third,  in  order  to  render  the  present- 
ment of  the  case  of  miniature  farming  complete. 

John  Sillett,  the  Suffolk  shopkeeper,  who  forsook  the 
shop  and  took  to  the  spade,  recovering  his  health,  and 


TERRAIN  AND  TILLAGE. 


5 


maintaining  his  family  in  comfort  on  two  acres  of  land, 
has  given  us  his  experience  in  his  well-known  pamphlet 
of  seven  years  ago,  on  “Fork  and  Spade  Husbandry.” 
The  great  extension  of  Freehold  Land  Societies  affords 
to  a multitude  of  townsmen  in  England  the  means  of 
leaving  town-industry  for  rural  independence,  as  John 
Sillett  did,  if  they  choose  to  work  as  he  did;  and  it 
seems  probable  that  a future  generation  may  see  a revi- 
val of  the  order  of  peasant  proprietors  in  this  country 
which  was  supposed  to  have  died  out  forever.  As  to 
the  other  class,  to  whom  small-farming  may  and  does 
answer,  we  have  just  been  presented  with  an  agreeable 
description  of  their  case  in  the  little  volume  called — 
“ Our  Farm  of  Four  Acres,  and  the  Money  we  made  by 
it.”  In  my  opinion  the  book  is  somewhat  too  tempting. 
The  statements,  each  one  no  doubt  perfectly  true  in  itself, 
will  require  some  modification  when  taken  to  represent 
the  first  six  years,  instead  of  the  first  six  months  of  the 
experiment ; but  the  narrative  is  so  fresh  and  animated 
— the  example  of  enterprise  and  energy  is  so  wholesome, 
and  the  scheme  of  life  is  so  wise,  that  the  book  must  be 
a real  boon  to  a class  of  society  which  sorely  needs  such 
aid; — the  class  of  gentlewomen  who  have  not  enough 
to  do.  We  hear  a great  deal  of  the  penalties  of  an 
unnatural  mode  of  life  endured  by  single  and  widowed 
women  in  confined  circumstances,  who  pine  away  their 
lives  in  towns ; and  we  see  many  who  do  not  suffer  from 
poverty,  losing  health  and  energy  for  want  of  interesting 
occupation.  If  this  book  should  induce  only  one  in  a 
hundred  of  these  languid  women  to  try  a country  life, 


6 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


with  the  amusement  of  a little  farming  in  a safe  way,  it 
will  have  been  a blessing  to  our  generation. 

John  Sillett’s  experiment  was  one  of  fork  and  spade 
husbandry  exclusively.  That  of  the  ladies  on  their  Four 
Acres  was  an  experiment  of  grazing,  almost  exclusively. 
Mine  is  one  of  an  intermediate  order.  I do  not  derive 
the  subsistence  of  a household  from  my  two  acres ; nor 
do  I keep  cows  and  pigs  on  the  easy  conditions  of  a 
plentiful  allowance  of  grass  and  arable  land,  with  the 
resource  of  a Right  of  Common,  to  serve  at  every  pinch. 
I am  obliged  to  keep  a considerable  portion  of  my  little 
plot  in  grass ; but  my  main  dependence  for  the  subsist- 
ence of  my  cows  is  on  fork  and  spade  husbandry.  Thus, 
like  the  ladies,  I keep  cows  for  comfort  and  luxury,  to 
which  I may  add  the  serious  consideration  of  creating  a 
subsistence  for  a laborer  and  his  wife ; while,  with  John 
Sillett,  I obtain  the  value  of  the  ground  and  animals 
chiefly  by  tillage,  instead  of  merely  gathering  in  the 
expensive  commodity  of  grass.  The  case  is  this : — 

I bought  a field,  in  order  to  build  myself  a house,  in  a 
beautiful  valley  in  the  north  of  England.  The  quan- 
tity of  land  was  somewhat  less  than  two  acres  and  a 
quarter,  of  which  more  than  half  an  acre  was  rock.  On 
the  rocky  portion  stands  the  house,  with  its  terrace  and 
the  drive  up  to  it,  and  little  oak  and  sycamore  and  ash 
copses  behind  and  flanking  it.  An  acre  and  a quarter 
was  left  in  grass,  which  I at  first  let  for  grazing  for 
£4  105.  a year.  Enough  ground  was  left  for  a few  vege- 
table and  flower  beds,  which  the  women  of  the  household 
took  such  care  of  as  they  could.  At  the  end  of  a year 


TERRAIN  AND  TILLAGE. 


7 


from  our  entrance  upon  our  pretty  house  in  the  field,  the 
state  of  things  was  this.  The  meadow  was  a constant 
eyesore ; for  the  tenant  took  no  sort  of  care  of  it.  His 
cow  was  there,  rain  or  shine,  without  shelter  or  shade, 
and  usually  ill,  one  way  or  another.  The  grass  was  lumpy 
and  weedy.  Sheep  burst  in  through  the  hedge  on  the 
south  boundary,  that  hedge  being  no  business  of  mine, 
but  belonging  to  the  tenant  on  the  other  side.  It  was 
a broad,  straggling,  weedy  hedge,  which  harbored  ver- 
min, and  sent  showers  of  seeds  of  pestilent  weeds  into  my 
garden  ground;  and  as  sure  as  my  cabbages  began  to 
grow,  the  hungry  sheep — sharp-set  as  they  are  in  March 
— made  their  way  in,  and  ate  off  a whole  crop  in  the  night. 
It  cost  me  from  £6  to  £10  a year  to  hire  an  occasional 
gardener,  by  whom  the  aspect  of  the  place  was  barely 
kept  decent. 

At  the  same  time,  my  household  were  badly  off  for 
some  essential  comforts.  The  supply  of  milk  in  our 
neighborhood  could  never  be  depended  on ; and  it  failed 
when  it  was  most  wanted — in  the  travelling  season  when 
the  district  was  thronged  with  strangers.  During  that 
season,  even  the  supply  of  meat  was  precarious.  Fowls, 
hams,  eggs,  butter,  every  thing  was  precarious  or  unat- 
tainable ; so  that  housekeeping  was,  in  the  guest  season, 
a real  anxiety. 

Becoming  nearly  desperate  under  difficulties  which 
townsfolk  scarcely  dreamt  of,  I ventured  upon  the  experi- 
ment— more  bold  eleven  years  ago  than  now — of  using 
my  own  patch  of  land  for  the  production  of  comforts 
for  my  own  household.  I have  made  this  explanation 


8 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


because  I wish  it  to  be  clearly  understood  that  I did  not 
propose  to  make  money  by  my  miniature  farming,  and 
should  never  have  undertaken  it  with  any  such  view.  I 
could  not  afford  to  lose  money.  The  experiment  must 
pay  itself  or  stop.  But  here  was  the  land,  with  its 
attendant  expenses;  here  were  our  needs  and  discom- 
forts ; the  experiment  was  to  make  the  one  compensate 
the  other.  At  the  end  of  eleven  years,  I find  that  the 
plan  has  been  unquestionably  successful,  though  some  of 
the  estimates  of  the  first  two  or  three  seasons  have  been 
modified,  and  an  average  of  agricultural  mishaps  has 
occurred,  as  if  to  render  the  enterprise  a fair  specimen. 
It  has,  on  the  whole,  been  sufficiently  successful  to  attract 
a great  deal  of  notice,  and  influence  some  proceedings  in 
the  neighborhood ; and,  therefore,  as  I conceive,  to  justify 
my  adding  one  more  illustration  to  those  which  already 
exist  of  the  benefit  of  making  the  most  of  a small  area 
of  land. 

The  first  essential  was  a laborer.  I obtained  one  from 
an  agricultural  county,  as  spade  husbandry  was  a thing 
unheard  of  in  my  own  neighborhood.  He  brought  his 
wife;  and  his  wages  were  at  first  125.  a week,  out  of 
which  he  paid  the  low  rent  of  Is.  6d.  per  week  for  his 
cottage;  a model  cottage  which  I built,  with  the  cow- 
house adjoining,  for  £130.  These  stone  dwellings  last 
forever,  and  need  few  or  no  repairs,  so  that  money  is 
well  invested  in  them;  and  I regard  as  a good  invest- 
ment the  money  afterwards  laid  out  in  a hay-house,  a 
little  boiling-house,  a root-house,  two  fowl-yards,  and  a 
commodious  stone  dwelling  for  the  pig.  My  man’s 


TERRAIN  AND  TILLAGE. 


9 


wages  were  raised  by  degrees ; and  they  are  now  14s. 
a week  all  the  year  round,  with  the  cottage  rent  free. 
The  wife  has  the  use  of  my  wash-house  and  its  apparatus, 
and  opportunities  of  earning  a good  deal  by  means  of 
them.  In  ^ase  of  my  scheme  not  answering,  there  was  a 
certainty  that  the  cottage  and  other  buildings  would  let 
at  any  moment,  with  the  land ; while  their  quality  would 
not  deteriorate  with  time,  like  that  of  brick  or  wooden 
buildings. 

The  other  requisite  preparations  were  tanks  for  manure, 
implements,  and  some  additional  fencing.  Two  tanks, 
well  cemented  within,  and  covered  by  heavy  stone  lids, 
receive  the  sewage  and  slops  of  every  kind  from  the 
house,  cottage,  and  cow-stable ; and  a larger  tank,  among 
a clump  of  trees  in  a far  corner  of  the  field,  receives  the 
sweepings  of  stable  and  sty,  and  the  bulk  of  the 
manure.  The  implements  are  spades,  an  elastic  steel 
fork,  hoes,  rakes,  a scythe,  shears,  and  clippers,  a heavy 
roller  for  the  meadow,  a chaff-cutter,  a curry-comb  and 
brushes  for  the  cows’  coats ; troughs,  milk-pails,  and  the 
apparatus  of  the  boiling-house  and  dairy  ; to  which  were 
afterwards  added  a barrel  on  wheels  to  receive  soap-suds 
and  other  slops  at  back-doors  for  the  liquid  manure  pit ; 
a garden-engine  of  large  powers,  and  a frame  and  hand- 
glasses for  the  kitchen-garden.  About  a third  part  of 
these  implements  were  necessary  for  the  mere  gardening 
which  we  attempted  so  unprofitably  before  we  had  a 
laborer  on  the  premises. 

I am  not  going  to  speak  of  our  dairy  affairs  now ; I 
will  do  so  hereafter  ; but  my  present  subject  is  the  tillage 
1* 


io 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


of  the  soil : and  I will  therefore  say  no  more  here  about 
cows  than  that  we  began  with  one,  and  finding  that  we 
could  keep  two  for  almost  as  little  trouble  as  one— the 
stable  and  the  man  being  provided — I rented  another 
half-acre  adjoining  my  field,  at  £1  155.  a yea*,  and  kept 
two  cows,  thus  securing-  a supply  of  milk  for  the  whole 
year.  We  produce  food  enough  for  about  a cow  and 
a half,  besides  vegetables  and  fruit  for  the  household, 
and  find  it  answer  to  buy  the  requisite  addition  to  the 
winter  food,  as  I will  explain  at  another  time. 

Here,  then,  we  were  at  the  outset,  with  simply  our 
cow-stable,  pig-house,  and  tanks,  and  an  acre  and  a quar- 
ter of  ground  on  which  to  work,  to  produce  food  for  a 
cow  and  pig,  besides  household  vegetables.;.  fettered  also 
with  the  necessity,  that,  on  account  of  the  view  from  the 
windows,  at  least  three-quarters  of  an  acre  must  remain 
in  grass,  the  most  expensive  of  all  conditions.  We  pared 
off  the  corners  and  laid  them  into  the  arable  part,  in  the 
first  instance,  so*  as  to  leave  the  grassy  area  just  three- 
quarters  of  an  acre.  To  finish  with  the  pasture  first,  the 
treatment  it  requires  is  this : Before  the  winter  rains  we 
give  the  grass  a good  dressing  of  guano  every  alternate 
year,  or  of  bones  broken,  but  not  to  powder,  every 
third  year.  Early  in  winter  the  whole  is  strewn  with 
manure  from  the  tank,  and  a compost  heap  we  have  in  a 
hidden  corner  of  the  new  half-acre.  At  the  end  of  Feb- 
ruary this  is  raked  away,  and  the  meadow  is  bush-har- 
rowed. A month  later  it  is  well  rolled  and  weeded, 
if  any  noxious  weeds,  such  as  oxeye  daisies,  or  bishop’s 
weed,  are  found  rooted  in  it.  If  any  moss  appears 


TERRAIN  AN I)  TILLAGE. 


11 


after  long  rains  it  is  treated  with  lime.  This  care  is  well 
repaid  by  the  beauty  of  the  surface  and  the  value  of  the 
grass.  The  little  spot  is  conspicuous  for  its  greenness 
when  all  the  rest  of  the  valley  is  of  a uniform  hay  color ; 
and  there  is  no  hay  in  the  neighborhood  to  compare  with 
ours.  The  cows  eat  off  the  first  growth  in  April.  It  is 
then  shut  up  for  six  weeks  or  so  for  hay,  and  is  mown 
towards  the  end  of  June,  when  it  yields  nearly  three  tons 
to  the  acre.  We  do  not  exhaust  the  ground  by  mowing 
it  twice,  but  allow  the  cows  to  feed  it  pretty  close  till 
November.  After  two  winters  we  found  that  the  anxiety 
of  keeping  such  hay  stacked  in  a rainy  climate  was  more 
than  the  thing  was  worth  ; and  I therefore  built  a hay- 
house,  and  was  only  sorry  that  I had  put  it  off  so  long. 
Knowing  what  the  plague  of  rats  is  in  such  buildings,  I 
adopted  the  only  perfect  security — that  of  using  such 
materials  as  no  vermin  can  penetrate.  The  floor  was 
flagged  as  carefully  as  a kitchen-floor,  and  slate  stones 
went  deep,  into  the  ground  below  the  flags.  A fllw  years 
later,  when  a winter  inundation  penetrated  every  place 
in  the  levels  of  the  valley,  and  wetted  our  hay,  I granted 
a raised  wooden  floor  to  the  entreaties  of  our  farm-man : 
and  there  our  hay  and  straw  keep  perfectly  well  in  all 
kinds  of  winters. 

Hay,  however,  is  an  extravagant  kind  of  food  for 
cows ; and  ours  have  it  only  for  variety,  and  as  a re- 
source when  other  things  fail,  and  when  they  calve,  or 
happen  to  be  ill.  Our  main  dependence  is  on  roots 
and  vegetables.  As  this  was  nearly  a new  idea  in  the 
neighborhood,  we  were  prodigiously  ridiculed,  till  our 


12 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


success  induced  first  respect  and  then  imitation.  It  was 
a current  maxim,  that  it  takes  three  acres  of  land  to  feed 
a cow ; and  this  may  be  very  true  jg  the  hill*  pastures, 
which  are  mossy  and  untended.  Our  milk  would  cost  us 
sixpence  a quart,  it  was  said — we  were  starving  our  poor 
cow — we  were  petting  our  cow,  so  that  she  was  like  a 
spoiled  child — such  were  the  remarks  till  events  silenced 
them,  and  people  came  to  see  how  we  arranged  our 
ground,  so  as  to  get  such  crops  out  of  it.  We  con- 
stantly gave  in  explanation  the  current  rule  : a the  more 
manure,  the  more  green  crops;  the  more  green  crops,  the 
more  stock ; the  more  stock,  the  more  manure.”  And 
by  degrees  the  true  principle  of  stall-feeding  and  spade- 
tillage,  became  clear  to  all  inquirers. 

Our  soil  is  light— not  very  deep  (lying  above  slaty- 
stone)  sufficiently  fertile,  and  easily  treated,  but  so  stony 
in  parts  as  to  dismay  a laborer  from  a clay  or  sand  dis- 
trict. The  neighbors  advised  my  man  to  cover  up  the 
stones,  4nd  think  no  more  of  them : but  we  concluded 
that  it  would  be  better  to  make  use  of  some  of  them. 
We  dug  deep  where  the  garden  paths  were  to  be,  and 
filled  in  the  stones,  so  as  to  make  drains  of  all  the  garden 
walks.  Others  went  to  mend  the  occupation-road  which 
runs  along  the  field,  and  through  the  half-acre.  On  the 
south  side,  and  in  the  half-acre,  there  is  scarcely  a stone, 
and  the  tillage  is  perfectly  easy.  Our  way  is  to  dig 
two  spits  deep,  straight  down,  manure  richly,  and  leave 
abundant  space  between  both  the  plants  and  the  rows. 
Hence  our  fine  roots,  and  our  weight  of  produce. 

I need  say  nothing  of  our  garden  tillage,  except  that, 


TERRAIN  AND  TILLAGE \ 


*3 


with  the  exception  of  winter  potatoes,  we  obtain  an 
abundant  supply  of  vegetables  for  a household  of  four 
persons,  and  their  occasional  guests.  All  common  fruits 
become  more  plentiful  every  year.  This  being  under- 
stood, we  are  here  concerned  only  with  the  food  for  the 
cows  and  pig.  In  summer,  we  sow  cabbage-seed — being 
careful  about  the  kind,  as  the  common  cow-cabbage  spoils 
the  milk  and  butter.  A kind  between  the  Ham  and 
Victoria  cabbage  is  by  the  Norfolk  people  considered  the 
best.  The  young  plants  are  pricked  out  in  early  autumn, 
some  hundreds  per  week  for  six  weeks,  to  secure  a suc- 
cession next  year.  They  should  be  eighteen  inches  apart, 
in  rows  a yard  apart : and  if  they  can  be  allowed  to  keep 
their  places  till  they  weigh  ten  or  twelve  pounds  apiece, 
they  of  course  afford  a great  bulk  of  food  for  the  animals. 
Anywhere  above  four  pounds  is,  however,  worth  the 
ground.  The  rows  being  placed  so  wide  apart  is  to 
allow  of  the  sowing  of  roots  between  them. 

In  April  and  May  we  sow  turnips  (Swedes  especially), 
carrots  (particularly  Belgian),  and  mangold  in  the  centre 
of  the  spaces  left ; and  by  the  time  the  root  crops  have 
been  thinned,  and  are  past  the  danger  of  the  fly,  the 
cabbages  are  fit  to  be  cut.  The  alternate  ones  are  taken 
first,  and  light  and  air  are  thus  let  in  freely.  The  cabbages 
begin  to  be  very  substantial  abbut  mowing  time,  and  fill 
up  all  intervals  till  November  ; that  is,  while  the  grass  is 
growing  after  hay-making,  and  between  the  first,  second, 
and  third  gathering  of  the  mangold  leaves.  It  is  the 
fashion  now  to  discourage  the  thinning  of  the  man- 
gold : but  we  find  the  roots  rather  the  better  than  the 


H 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


worse  for  the  process.  If  they  were  not,  we  could  still 
hardly  spare  the  resource  of  those  three  leaf-crops ; but 
the  fact  is,  no  such  mangold  as  ours  is  grown  anywhere 
near ; and  strangers  come  to  look  at  it,  both  in  the 
ground  and  in  the  root-house.  We  now  devote  the 
arable  part  of  our  rented  half-acre  to  this  root,  except 
when  it  is  necessary  to  grow  grain  for  a change,  which 
happens  every  third  or  fourth  year  ; and  this  last  year  we 
obtained  about  six  tons  from  a quarter  of  an  acre.  It 
keeps  admirably;  and  our  cows  were  still  enjoying  it  a 
month  h^bre  midsummer.  There  is  an  occupation-road 
through  the  half-acre  which  produces  only  grass  ; and  the 
same  is  true  of  a strip  running  its  whole  length,  under 
a row  of  noble  ash-trees,  which  of  course  prevent  all 
tillage  under  their  shade,  and  within  the  circuit  of  their 
roots.  The  arable  portion  amounts,  in  fact,  to  hardly 
one-third  of  an  acre. 

We  early  obtained  a small  addition  to  our  territory  in 
a rather  odd  way.  After  we  had  suffered  from  two  or 
three  invasions  of  sheep  through  the  great  ugly  hedge,  I 
received  an  occasional  hint  that  the  neighboring  tenant 
wished  I would  take  that  hedge  into  my  own  hands. 
Seeing  no  reason  why  I should  trouble  myself  with  such 
a vexatious  and  unprofitable  piece  of  property,  I paid  no 
attention  to  the  hints:  but  my  farm-man  at  length  inti- 
mated that  he  could  make  a good  thing  of  it,  if  I would 
let  him  demolish  the  hedge,  which  he  would  undertake, 
except  felling  the  pollard-ashes,  with  his  own  hands.  He 
was  sure  the  contents  of  the  hedge,  and  the  ground  we 
should  get  by  it,  would  pay  for  a good  new  fence.  It 


TERRAIN  AND  TILLAGE . 


lS 


did  indeed  pay.  We  had  firewood  enough  for  more  than 
one  winter,  and  a good  deal  of  soil ; and  we  gained  a 
strip  of  ground  about  three  feet  wide,  the  whole  length 
of  the  field.  Moreover,  my  neighbor  obtained  the  same 
quantity,,  to  the  great  augmentation  of  his  friendship  for 
us.  The  new  fence  cost  £9.  It  is  a crosspole  fence — the 
only  kind  which  is  found  effectual  here  against  the  incur- 
sions of  sheep.  They  leap  upon  a wall ; they  burst 
through  a hedge ; they  thrust  themselves  through  a post- 
and-rail  fence ; but  they  can  get  no  footing  on  a cross- 
pole fence ; and  only  the  youngest  lambs  can  creep 
through  the  interstices.  The  material  used  is  split  larch- 
poles  ; and  those  who  object  that  such  a fence  is  not 
durable  must  have  omitted  the  precaution  of  tarring  the 
ends  which  enter  the  ground.  With  that  precaution  it 
may  last  a lifetime;  and  it  is  easily  mended  if  a pole 
here  and  there  should  go  before  the  rest.  It  occupies 
the  smallest  portion  of  ground — is  no  hindrance  to  air 
and  sunshine,  and  is  remarkably  pretty.  When  covered 
with  roses,  as  mine  is  for  the  greater  part,  it  is  a luxury 
to  look  upon,  reminding  travellers  of  the  rose-covered 
trellises  of  hot  countries, — as  in  Louisiana,  Damascus, 
# and  Egypt.  We  were  so  delighted  with  it  that  I carried 
it  along  the  bottom  of  the  field,  where  also  I was  not 
chargeable  with  the  care  of  the  fence.  I see  strangers 
come  in  and  examine  it,  and  try  to  shake  it,  as  if  they 
thought  it  a flimsy  affair  for  a farm,  even  on  a miniature 
scale ; but  I believe  it  will  outlast  the  present  genera- 
tion of  inhabitants,  human  and  quadruped. 

It  will  be  necessary  to  give  some  account  of  our  live- 


i6 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES . 


stock  and  its  produce  before  we  can  form  an  estimate  of 
profit  or  loss  on  the  whole  scheme  of  my  little  farm. 
Meantime,  we  may  say  thus  much : 

Twelve  years  ago  we  saw  about  our  dwelling  an  acre 
and  a quarter  of  grass,  in  unsightly  condition,  grazed  by 
a sickly  cow ; a few  beds  of  flowers  and  a few  more  of 
vegetables — the  former  not  well  kept,  and  the  latter  far 
from  productive — and,  for  the  rest,  a drive  and  little 
plantations,  and  slopes  rarely  neat,  and  always  craving 
more  care  than  we  could  give.  For  the  grass  I obtained, 
as  I said,  <£4  10s.  a year ; and,  to  an  occasional  gardener, 
I paid  from  £6  to  £10  a year.  In  connection  with  these 
particulars,  we  must  remember  the  housekeeping  troubles 
— bad  butter,  blue  milk,  and  thin  cream ; costly  vegeta- 
bles which  had  travelled  in  the  sun ; hams  costing  £1  at 
least;  eggs  at  1 d.  each,  and  fowls  scarce  and  skinny;  and 
all  this  in  a place  where  the  supply  of  meat  is  precarious 
at  the  most  important  time  of  the  year. 

The  state  of  things  now  is  wonderfully  different.  The 
whole  place  is  in  the  neatest  order  conceivable;  the 
slopes  are  mown,  and  the  shrubs  trimmed,  and  the  paths 
clean ; and  the  parterres  gay,  almost  all  the  year  round. 
With  only  three-quarters  of  an  acre  of  grass,  we  have 
about  £12  worth  of  hay  ; and  part  grazing  for  two 
cows  for  six  months  of  the  year.  We  have  roots  to  the 
value  of  about  £8  a year,  exclusive  of  the  benefit  of  their 
green  part,  which  affords  several  cwts.  of  food.  Then, 
there  are  the  cabbages  for  the  cows,  which  in  favorable 
seasons  have  afforded  the  staple  of  their  food  for  three 
or  four  months.  In  southern  and  eastern  counties  they 


TERRAIN  AND  TILLAGE . 


*7 


would  be  a more  ample  and  certain  dependence  than  in 
the  north.  Then  for  the  house,  we  have  always  had  an 
over-supply  of  vegetables  (except  the  winter  store  of 
potatoes),  the  surplus  going,  rather  wastefully,  to  the 
pig.  Beginning  with  cress,  and  radishes,  lettuce,  and 
early  potatoes,  and  going  through  the  whole  series  of 
peas  and  beans,  turnips  and  carrots,  spinach,  onions  and 
herbs,  vegetable  marrow  and  cucumbers,  cabbages, 
cauliflowers,  and  broccoli,  up  to  winter  greens,  we  have 
abounded  in  that  luxury  of  fresh-cut  vegetables  which 
townspeople  can  appreciate.  All  the  common  fruits  fol- 
low of  course.  The  comfort  of  having  an  active  man  on 
the  premises,  ready  for  every  turn,  is  no  small  considera- 
tion in  a household  of  women. 

All  these  things  have  been  created,  we  must  observe — 
called  out  of  the  ground  where  they  lay  hid,  as  it  were. 
This  creation  of  subsistence  and  comfort  is  a good  thing 
in  itself ; it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  it  is  justified  by 
paying  its  own  cost.  This  we  shall  learn  when  we  have 
reviewed  the  history  of  our  Dairy  and  Poultry-yard. 


i8 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


DAIRY  AND  BACON. 

WI  should,  have  said  you  would  he  more  humane,” 
observed  a London  friend  to  me,  u than  to  shut  up  your 
cows.  I could  not  have  believed  you  would  be  so  cruel.” 

A few  minutes’  conversation  made  a wonderful  differ- 
ence in  this  benevolent  lady’s  impressions.  She  was  a 
thorough  Londoner,  and  knew  nothing  of  cow  tastes  and 
habits.  With  the  ordinary  human  tendency  to  fetishism, 
she  regarded  cow-life  from  her  own  point  of  view,  and 
pitied  my  Meggie  and  Ailsie  for  not  seeing  the  lovely 
landscape  as  they  lay  ruminating.  The  argument  may 
be  shortly  given.  Granting  that  the  so-called  “ natural 
condition”  of  animals  is  the  happiest,  which  may  not  be 
true  in  the  quadruped  any  more  than  the  human  case,  it 
is  impossible  at  this  time  of  day  to  put  our  domestic 
cattle  under  the  conditions  of  the  primitive  life  of  their 
race.  When  they  roamed  our  island  wild  they  could 
shelter  themselves  from  the  noonday  heat  in  the  forest, 
and  escape  the  flies  by  getting  into  the  water ; whereas, 
when  once  cows  are  domesticated,  there  is  an  end  of 
forest  shade,  and  of  recourse  to  lakes  and  rivers  ; and 
the  question  is,  whether  something  better  is  not  given. 
Taking  the  winter  into  the  question,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  about  the  matter.  Lean  cows  were  slaughtered  in 
autumn,  and  salted  down  for  winter  food,  in  old  times, 
because  there  were  no  means  of  feeding  them  during  the 
interval  between  the  late  and  early  grass ; and,  as  for 
those  which  were  spared  the  slaughter,  we  know  what 


DAIRY  AND  BACON 


l9 


their  wildness  from  hunger  was  by  the  end  of  winter. 
The  cows  on  a small  farm  (or  on  a large  one  either) 
cannot  have  open  woods  and  waters  to  resort  to ; and,  if 
sent  out  to  feed,  have  a half-and-half  sort  of  life,  the 
superiority  of  which  to  stall-feeding  may  be  questionable. 
They  have  neither  the  natural  nor  the  artificial  protection 
from  heat  and  flies,  and  their  condition  is  less  equable 
than  that  of  the  stall-fed  cow.  In  high  summer  they  may 
be  very  fat  and  sleek, — too  fat  to  be  perfect  milkers  ; but 
in  early  spring  they  are  meagre,  ragged,  and  half  dry, 
when  the  stall-fed  animals  are  nearly  as  sleek  and  pros- 
perous as  a#t  any  other  season. 

Every  observer  remarks  on  the  good  plight  of  my 
cows  when  those  of  the  neighboring  farmers  are  turned 
out  upon  the  fells  in  spring:  and,  during  the  summer, 
if  Meggie  and  Ailsie  happen  to  be  out  towards  noon, 
they  turn  into  their  stable  of  their  own  accord  to  escape 
the  flies  and  enjoy  the  coolness.  The  test  is  the  health  of 
the  animals ; and,  by  all  I have  been  able  to  learn,  stall- 
fed  cows,  properly  managed,  live  longer,  give  more  milk 
in  the  long  run,  have  fewer  illnesses,  and  are  better 
tempered  than  those  which  are  treated  in  the  ordinary 
method  of  our  old-fashioned  farming.  When  Cow  Life 
Insurance  Societies  become  as  numerous  as  they  ought 
to  be,  their  tables  will  soon  show  whether  stall-feeding  is 
favorable  to  life  and  health,  or  the  contrary.  Meantime, 
the  world  is  grievously  in  want  of  agricultural  statistics 
in  that  department,  as  in  every  other. 

I may  remark  here,  that  the  ladies  who  tell  us  of  their 
Four-Acre  Farm,  and  all  other  farmers,  large  and  small, 


20 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES . 


will  be  wise  to  insure  their  cows’  lives,  if  any  well-estab- 
lished society  for  the  purpose  exists  within  reach.  At 
this  season  last  year,  when  I lost  a cow  for  the  first  time, 
I should  have  been  very  glad  of  such  a resource.  The 
few  shillings  per  year  for  each  cow  are  worth  paying,  if 
never  wanted  back  again  : for  the  peace  of  mind  is  a main 
feature  in  the  bargain,  as  in  the  case  of  life  and  fire 
insurance.  One  of  the  finest  and  healthiest  young  cows 
I ever  saw,  which  had  calved  prosperously  a year  before, 
calved  last  June  in  the  midst  of  the  thundery  weather 
which  then  prevailed.  The  storm  burst  just  after ; my 
poor  cow  sank  down,  and  never  got  up  again.  This  was 
a case  of  sheer  accident:  no  management  could  have 
prevented  it ; and  the  appropriate  consolation  would  have 
been  receiving  her  value  from  an  Insurance  Society  if  I 
had  had  the  opportunity. 

Country  residents  who  know  how  often  the  familiar 
petition  comes  round  on  behalf  of  the  cottager  or  small 
farmer  who  has  lost  a cow  or  two,  can  bear  witness  to 
the  policy  of  establishing  such  a society  in  every  rural 
neighborhood,  and  taking  care  of  its  being  founded  on  a 
safe  basis.  The  subscriptions  now  given  on  petition 
would  be  better  bestowed  on  such  a foundation.  Good 
would  be  done,  and  ease  of  mind  afforded,  all  round ; 
and  after  ten  years  or  so,  the  collective  records  would 
yield  some  very  valuable  knowledge  as  to  the  life  and 
health  of  farm-stock. 

The  combined  experience  of  a neighborhood  or  district 
must  surely  lead  to  an  improved  medical  treatment  of 
animals.  The  greatest  drawback  on  small  farming  is  the 


DAIRY  AND  BACON 


21 


helplessness  of  the  proprietor  when  a cow  or  pig  is  ill. 
It  requires  to  be  on  the  spot  to  believe  the  nonsense  that 
is  talked  on  such  occasions  in  retired  villages,  and  what 
passions  are  called  into  play.  A few  months  after  I began, 
I was  told  that  my  cow  was  ill.  The  local  doctor  was 
sent  for,  and  he  gave  his  verdict  and  instituted  the  treat- 
ment. But  I could  make  nothing  of  the  matter  at  all — 
neither  what  ailed  the  cow,  nor  whether  it  was  serious, 
nor  even  whether  she  might  die.  By  the  bustle  and 
solemnity,  and  my  man  being  seen  to  brush  away  tears 
when  my  back  was  turned,  I augured  the  worst;  but  I 
do  not  at  this  moment  know  how  far  she  was  in  danger. 
The  report  was : u ’Tis  the  worm  in  the  tail,  that  go  all 
along  her  back  and  up  into  her  head,  so  that  her  teeth 
are  loose,  and  she  can’t  properly  eat.”  She  was  bled  in 
the  tail,  dosed  with  physic,  fed  with  meal,  and  rubbed, 
and  in  a day  or  two  she  was  quite  well.  Other  alarms 
of  the  same  kind  have  occurred  since ; and  the  sense  of 
blank  ignorance  in  one’s  self,  and  of  the  quackery  of 
those  who  pretend  to  know  more,  while  the  suffering 
animal  is  sinking  before  one’s  eyes,  is  decidedly  the  most 
disagreeable  experience  of  rural  life  in  my  case.  And 
then,  if  one  asks  a question,  or  demurs  to  bleeding  (from 
which  a cow  rarely  recovers  completely),  or  proposes  any 
simple  method,  or  fails  to  send  for  the  local  oracle,  or, 
worst  of  all,  sends  for  a real  veterinary  surgeon  too, 
th§re  is  an  astonishing  outburst  of  passions.  Doctor  and 
farm-man  quarrel : “ The  lady  rnay  cure  her  own  cows.” 
— “ Nobody  will  set  a foot  on  the  premises  if  new  notions 
are  to  be  tried” — and  so  forth.  Happy  they  who  live 


22 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


within  immediate  reach  of  a qualified  veterinary  surgeon ! 
In  the  absence  of  such  a resource  there  is,  I believe, 
no  doubt  whatever  that  the  simple  rules  and  facts  of 
homoeopathic  practice  are  the  greatest  possible  boon. 
The  operation  of  that  method  of  practice  in  the  case 
of  cattle  and  horses  is  too  remarkable  to  leave  room  for 
question,  I understand,  among  those  most  opposed  to  it 
in  the  human  case. 

I have  said  all  the  harm  I have  to  say  of  my  first  cow. 
She  was  a rather  large  but  very  pretty  short-horn,  of  the 
local  kind.  It  does  not  do  for  small  farmers  to  try  many 
experiments  with  different  kinds  of  cows:  and  it  is 
generally  safest  to  be  content  with  the  local  sort.  I live 
too  far  north  for  Alderneys,  which  ladies  often  incline  to, 
to  their  cost  in  the  long  run ; but  I hoped  much  from 
a cheap,  hardy  little  Kerry  cow,  such  as  I have  known 
to  be  very  profitable  in  the  midland  counties ; but  she 
did  not  answer.  Meggie,  however,  my  first  experiment, 
served  and  pleased  me  well  for  six  years.  I gave  £15  for 
her  at  six  years  old,  and  she  was  valued  at  £1  when  I 
exchanged  her  at  the  end  of  six  years.  Thus,  spreading 
her  prime  cost — viz.,  £8 — over  the  six  years,  together 
with  4 per  cent,  interest  on  the  £15,  she  eost  me,  as  a 
purchase,  £1  18$.  a year'. 

The  cost  of  her  maintenance  cannot  be  given  with 
equal  precision,  because  her  food  was  as  various  as  we 
could  make  it,  and  it  is  impossible  to  estimate  the  value 
of  every  article  we  grew.  But  we  can  ascertain  within 
a narrow  margin  how  much  Meggie  cost,  and  how  well 
it  answered  to  keep  her.  The  proper  amount  of  food  for 


DAIRY  AND  BACON.. 


23 


a milch,  cow  is  not  less  than  VO  lb.  per  day — a fatting 
bullock  requiring  about  90  lb.  For  stall-feeding  we  must 
reckon  the  winter  as  lasting  five  months,  in  our  northern 
counties.  Each  cow,  therefore,  must  have  four  tons  of 
roots  and  one  ton  of  h?y,  with  a few  extras,  such  as 
I will  presently  mention.  Allowing  for  calving-times, 
exigencies,  and  indulgences,  throughout  the  year,  we 
purchase  about  a ton  of  hay  for  each  cow,  in  addition  to 
our  own  crop.  I pay  a few  shillings  here  and  there  in 
the  neighborhood  for  grass  and  brewers’  grains,  and  buy 
Thorley’s  cattle-food,  an  occasional  load  of  straw,  and  a 
little  meal  at  calving-times.  In  ordinary  seasons,  the 
bought  food  may  be  set  down  at  about  £10  for  each  cow. 
Her  share  of  the  man’s  wages  may  be  reckoned  at  one- 
third,  or  £11,  and  of  the  cost  of  tillage  at  £1  105.  The 
extra  manure,  beyond  her  own  yield,  is  about  £1  55., 
and  her  share  of  the  cost  of*  utensils  and  their  repairs, 
£1  55.,  and  of  the  interest  of  the  capital  invested  in 
her  stable  and  all  the  accessories  by  which  she  benefits, 
£1  105.  I think  this  is  all  that  Meggie  can  have  cost  me. 

As  for  her  produce,  there  was  the  annual  calf,  which 
brought,  if  a bull-calf,  only  55.,  and  if  a wye  (cow-calf), 
a guinea  at  the  end  of  a week.  She  gave  us,  on  the 
average  of  the  year,  ten  quarts  of  milk  per  day.  After 
calving,  she  gave  sixteen  quarts  or  more  for  a time ; to 
set  against  which  there  was  the  decline  and  dryness  before 
calving;  so  that  we  reckon  the  average  at  ten  quarts. 
Her  manure  is  already  set  off  against  her  foQd.  We  have 
not  here  the  London  prices,  which  so  brighten  the  ac- 
counts of  the  Four- Acre  Farm.  We  must  reckon  the  new 


24 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


milk  at  2 cl.  the  quart,  and  butter  as  averaging  11c?.  per 
pound.  Our  lowest  price  is  8c?.,  and  the  highest  Is.  3c?. 
Reckoning  the  produce  as  milk,  it  brings  £30  8s.  4c?.  per 
cow,  for  the  year.  I might  magnify  it  by  reckoning  a 
part  as  butter ; but  I wish  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  and 
will,  therefore,  put  our  sales  and  gains  at  the  lowest. 


COST  OF  EACH  COW. 


£ 

s. 

d. 

Food  bought 

. 10 

0 

0 

Attendance * 

. 11 

0 

0 

Tillage  . . . • . 

. 1 

10 

0 

Manure 

1 

5 

0 

Utensils  and  repairs 

. 1 

5 

0 

Interest  on  capital 

. 1 

10 

0 

Prime  cost  and  interest 

. 1 

18 

0 

£28 

8 

0 

PRODUCE  OF  EACH  COW. 

£ 

s. 

cl 

Milk 

. 30 

8 

4 

Calf  (average) 

. 0 

13 

0 

£31 

1 

4 

Cost 

. 28 

8 

0 

£2 

13 

4 

This  small  surplus  may  be  set  apart  to  meet  accidents ; 
and  thus  Meggie  just  paid  her  own  expenses,  leaving  to 
me  &nd  my  household  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  man,  wife, 
and  animals  maintained,  the  place  rendered  fertile,  and 
ourselves  supplied  with  rural  luxuries  which  were  not  to 
be  had  for  money. 

Afraid  of  the  responsibility  of  inducing  any  rash  experi- 
ment, I have  rather  over-estimated  than  underrated  the 


DAIRY  AND  BACON 


25 


exposes,  and  made  the  very  least  of  our  gains ; and  it 
must  be  remembered  that  in  the  neighborhood  of  London, 
or  any  other  large  town,  the  expense  of  food  and  wages 
would  be  the  same,  while  the  sale  of  produce  would  bring 
in  about  one-third  more. 

The  mode  of  life  of  a stall-fed  cow  is  very  simple.  By 
6 a.  m.,  at  latest,  in  summer,  and  7 a.  m.,  in  winter,  her 
stable  should  be  cleaned  out, — all  liquids  swept  into  the 
drain  and  tank,  all  solids  harrowed  to  the  large  tank  down 
the  held,  and  powdered  charcoal  deposited  where  most 
needed.  A plentiful  supply  of  air  has  been  provided 
during  the  night  by  the  opening  of  some  of  the  windows, 
of  which  there  are  three.  A small  window  in  the  roof, 
opened  by  a cord,  secures  the  escape  of  foul  air.  The 
stable  being  close  to  the  cottage,  is  well  warmed  in  winter. 
We  find  the  cows  do  better  without  litter  than  with  any 
kind  we  have  been  able  to  try.  Cocoa-nut  fibre  mats  were 
presented  to  me  for  trial,  when  it  appeared  that  fern, 
haulm,  and  straw,  tempted  the  cows  to  eat  their  litter ; 
but  the  mats  were  too  warm  ; and  the  animals’  hoofs  grew 
long  and  became  brittle  A smooth  surface  of  cement  or 
asphalte  appears  to  answer  best,  provided  it  is  kept  in 
thorough  repair,  and  made  sloping  in  the  slightest  possible 
degree,  so  as  to  allow  liquid  to  run  off,  without  fatiguing 
the  cow  by  depriving  her  of  a level  standing-place. 

The  cleaning  of  the  place  being  done,  the  next  thing  is 
the  milking ; and  then  the  breakfast ; and  then  the  rub- 
bing down  of  the  animal.  Her  coat  should  be  first  cur- 
ried, and  then  brushed  every  day,  and  her  legs — particu- 
larly the  hind  legs — well  rubbed.  Her  coat  ought  to  be 
2 


26 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


as  glossy  as  that  of  a horse ; and  if  she  is  not  thoroughly 
freed  from  dirt,  she  will  he  restless  in  her  eagerness  to  rub 
herself  against  wall  or  post  on  every  side.  Duly  dressed, 
she  lies  down  to  ruminate  in  calm  content. 

In  summer,  when  the  hay  is  growing,  she  has  cut'grass, 
more  or  less  every  day.  We  get  it  from  sundry  patches 
on  our  own  ground — from  strips  under  the  trees,  from  the 
slopes,  the  borders,  and  three-cornered  bits  in  angles  of 
the  garden,  and  from  the  ditch,  hedge,  and  road  in  the 
half-acre ; and  also  from  any  neighbor  who  will  let  us 
have  it  for  the  cutting,  or  a trifle  over.  There  is  some 
every  day,  till  the  cows  can  turn  out  after  the  hay-making. 
Meantime,  there  are  the  last  of  the  mangold  roots,  and 
there  is  chopped  straw  dressed  with  Thorley’s  cattle-food, 
which  is  a great  comfort  as  a resource,  when  food  is  scanty 
or  precarious.  The  tradition  of  our  district,  of  the  eager- 
ness of  the  cattle  of  the  monks  of  Furness  after  the  ash 
and  holly  sprays  on  the  mountains,  guides  us  to  another 
resource.  A cow  will  brave  many  obstacles  to  get  at  the 
young  sprays  of  the  ash ; so  we  crop  ours  from  the  pol- 
lards. The  same  with  nettles  in  their  season.  We  must 
not  suppose  these  things  bad  food,  because  we  should  not 
like  them.  Brewers’  grains  are  another  resource.  Cows 
are  very  fond  of  them.  When  the  roots  are  done,  the 
cabbages  are  coming  on ; and  then  many  helps  arise ; the 
thinnings  of  the  growing  turnips  and  mangold,  and  after- 
wards their  crops  cf  leaves.  These  things,  with  the  ever- 
growing grass,  carry  us  on  to  November,  when  the  last 
cabbage  is  eaten,  and  the  pasture  must  be  manured.  Then 
begins  the  winter  routine.  The  cinders  from  the  house, 


DAIRY  AND  BACON 


27 


and  a penny  sack  of  shavings  from  the  bobbin-mill  light 
the  boiler  fire  which  keeps  the  food  warm  for  the  day. 
The  turnips  are  eaten  first,  because  they  do  not  keep  so 
well  as  the  mangold.  A cwt.  of  turnips  per  day  is  rather 
more  than  two  cows  want,  if  there  are  carrots  for  them, 
or  cut  straw,  with  Thorley’s  food.  The  roots  are  sliced 
and  boiled  with  the  straw.  The  secret  of  giving  turnips 
without  fatal  damage  to  the  cream  and  butter  is  to  pour 
off  all  the  water,  and  give  the  roots  dry,  with  fresh  water 
to  drink,  of  course.  The  hay  is  the  dessert — given  dry  if 
the  cows  prefer  it  so.  To  keep  their  teeth  in  use,  they 
may  have  a mangold  root  or  two  in  the  course  of  the 
day— a to  amuse  themselves  with,”  as  the  man  says.  They 
have  three  regular  meals  in  the  day,  and  something  more 
during  the  longest  days.  In  winter  they  settle  well  for 
the  night  after  six  o’clock. 

Our  dairy  is  in  rather  an  odd  place — under  the  library. 
It  is  the  place  of  most  equable  temperature  on  the  prem- 
ises ; the  coolest  in  summer,  and  the  warmest  in  winter ; 
being  a part  of  the  cellar  blasted  out  of  the  rock,  and  its 
windows  nearly  level  with  the  garden  ground  outside. 
It  is  fitted  up  with  slate-stone  shelves,  and  leaded  cisterns 
for  the  milk.  We  have  tried  various  new  devices — glass, 
earthenware,  and  wood ; but  we  find  that  the  cream  rises 
better  in  the  old  cisterns,  lined  with  lead  or  zinc,  than 
under  any  other  circumstances.  Our  butter  rarely  gives 
any  trouble  in  the  making ; and,  siuce  we  fairly  learned 
the  art,  it  has  had  an  excellent  reputation.  We  do  not 
often  obtain  so  much  as  one  pound  from  one  quart  of 
cream ; and  we  are  satisfied  that  this  quantity  cannot  be 


28 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


got  on  an  average  of  seasons  and  of  cows ; but  on  occa- 
sion we  obtain  it.  The  pig  has  the  buttermilk  and  what 
skim-milk  we  do  not  use  for  our  bread  and  cakes,  nor 
sell.  The  consumption  of  cream  in  the  household  is  not 
small.  We  relish  it  with  our  fruit  and  otherwise.  We 
like  custards  and  trifle  and  fruit-creams  and  white  soups ; 
and,  now  it  is  understood  to  have  the  properties  which 
make  cod-liver  oil  so  much  the  fashion  for  weakly  people, 
we  agree  how  far  preferable  the  domestic  article  is  to  the 
imported,  and  indulge  largely  in  the  medicine,  ill  or 
well. 

It  should  not  be  omitted  that  our  keeping  cows  is  a 
social  benefit.  The  troop  of  children  coming  for  milk, 
morning  and  evening,  is  a pretty  sight.  I have  added  to 
the  advantage  of  the  supply  that  of  requiring  ready 
money  for  it.  In  old-fashioned  places,  where  money  mat- 
ters are  irregular,  and  long  credits  cause  perpetual  mis- 
chief and  frequent  ruin,  and  where  some  of  the  gentry 
give  away  milk  to  people  perfectly  able  to  pay  for  it,  it  is 
a social  service  to  insist  on  both  paying  and  receiving 
ready  money.  My  cook  is  therefore  charged  with  the 
dairy  concerns,  and  upheld  by  her  employers  in  giving 
no  credit.  Before  we  learned  the  ways  of  the  place, 
customers  who  could  afford  strong  drink  and  fine  clothes 
went  into  debt  to  us  for  milk  up  to  nearly  £1,  and  then 
went  to  another  dairy.  It  was  no  better  kindness  to 
them  than  to  ourselves  to  allow  this  : and,  now  that  our 
rule  is  inflexible,  as  to  paying  and  being  paid,  we  have  no 
difficulty,  except  when,  at  times,  our  cows  are  to  calve  at 
too  short  an  interval,  and  the  supply  runs  short,  and  the 


DAIRY  AND  BACON.  29 

customers  “ are  fit  to  tear  us  to  pieces,”  as  cook  says,  for 
what  we  have  to  sell. 

There  is  not  much  to  tell  of  the  pig.  We  bespeak  one 
of  a good  breed  each  spring  and  autumn,  bringing  him 
home  at  from  six  to  ten  weeks  old — old  enough  to  keep 
himself  warm  and  comfortable.  His  cost  is  then  from 
15^.  to  255.,  according  to  the  state  of  the  world  in  regard 
to  pig-keeping.  Before  the  potato-rot,  one  might  get  for 
IO5.  such  a pig  as  afterwards  cost  205.  Our  pig’s  house 
is  a substantial  stone  edifice,  cool  in  summer  and  warm  in 
winter,  with  a paved  yard  for  eating,  exercise,  and  bask- 
ing in  the  sun.  The  pavement  should  come  up  every  few 
years,  and  the  soil  below  should  be  removed  for  manure, 
and  new  laid.  A liberal  use  of  powdered  charcoal  will 
be  repaid  by  the  health  of  the  pig  and  the  content  of  the 
neighbors ; and  there  is  no  more  valuable  manure  than 
the  charcoal  which  has  done  its  work  of  purification. 
The  house  and  yard  must  be  kept  swept  and  clean,  and 
the  straw  frequently  renewed,  and  then  the  animal  itself 
will  have  good  habits*  Pigs  are  not  dirty  when  they 
have  any  encouragement  to  be  clean.  Ours  is  washed 
every  week,  in  warm  soap  and  water,  and  well  scrubbed 
behind  the  ears  and  everywhere,  to  its  great  ease  and 
comfort.  A highly  economical  remark  of  my  man  about 
this  part  of  his  work  was,  that  he  scrubbed  the  pig  on 
washing-days,  because  the  soapsuds  did  just  as  well  for 
manure  after  the  pig  had  done  with  them,  “ and  that,” 
said  he,  u makes  the  soap  serve  three  times  over.” 

Buttermilk,  skim-milk,  refuse  vegetables,  kitchen- stuff 
bought  for  sixpence  per  week,  grains  now  and  then,  and 


3° 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES . 


any  coarse  food  rendered  nutritious  and  delectable  by 
Thorley’s  food  or  malt-dust  being  sprinkled  over  it,  keep 
our  pig  in  health  and  happiness  till  he  has  accomplished 
the  first  six  or  seven  months  of  his  life.  Then  he  must 
be  fattened  for  three  weeks.  The  more  he  is  induced  to 
eat  during  that  time,  the  more  profitable  will  he  be ; and 
his  food  must  be  of  the  best  kind.  Opinions  differ  as  to 
whether  oatmeal  orbarleymeal  answers  best.  Our  belief 
is  that  a mixture  is  the  true  thing.  The  barley  is  cheaper, 
and  requires  a month  to  produce  its  effect : the  oat  is 
dearer,  but  requires  less  than  three  weeks.  It  is  the 
better,  however,  for  being  qualified  with  the  barley ; and 
we  use  them  half-and-half,  till  the  pig  has  had  sixteen 
stone,  costing  £1  45.  His  weight  when  killed  is,  on  the 
average,  twelve  stone,  which  has  fetched,  within  my 
experience,  from  5s.  to  7s.  per  stone.  Our  money  gain, 
after  all  expenses  are  deducted,  may  thus  vary  from  £1 
to  nothing  on  the  pig ; but  the  privilege  of  well-educated 
bacon,  and  hams  of  high  quality,  is  no  contemptible  one, 
as  will  be  owned  by  doubting  and  scrupulous  purchasers 
of  pork  in  towns.  We  and  our  friends  can  enjoy  our 
sausages,  pork-pies,  hams,  and  bacon  without  drawback ; 
and  the  value  of  the  two  latter  in  the  commissariat  in  a 
region  where  the  very  legs  of  mutton  in  the  butcher’s 
shop  have  to  be  divided  between  urgent  petitioners  in  the 
season,  cannot  be  described. 

No  party  is  better  pleased  than  the  man  in  charge — 
unless  it  be  his  wife.  He  buys  half  the  pig  at  wholesale 
price;  has  his  bacon  cheap;  and  can,  if  he  chooses,  sell 
the  ham  at  a great  profit  in  the  season.  We  kill  our 


DAIRY  AND  BACON. 


31 

pork  in  tlie  first  days  of  November  and  the  last  of 
March. 

There  remains  the  produce  of  the  poultry-yard  to  make 
out  our  bill  of  fare.  That  story  is  too  long  for  this  place, 
and  must  be  told  in  the  next  chapter. 


32 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


THE  POULTRY- YARD. 

In  order  to  make  money  by  poultry,  in  any  proportion 
to  the  attention  given  to  them,  the  speculator  should 
be  either  a capitalist  who  provides  an  extensive  appa- 
ratus for  the  supply  of  fowls  and  eggs  to  a neighboring 
community,  or  a cottager  or  small  farmer  who  can  rear 
fowls  in  a chance-medley  way,  on  what  they  can  pick  up 
for  themselves.  As  I am  neither  a professional  breeder 
of  poultry,  nor  a cottager,  nor  yet  a small  farmer  in  the 
ordinary  use  of  the  term,  I cannot  and  do  not  expect  to 
make  money  to  any  notable  extent  by  our  fowls  and 
ducks.  As  I have  already  intimated,  the  object  is  security 
against  famine,  where  a whole  neighborhood  depends  on 
the  justice  and  mercy  of  one  butcher.  When  I relate 
that  at  an  inn  not  three  miles  off,  forty-five  couples  of 
fowls  have  been  killed  in  one  day,  from  the  beef  and 
lamb  falling  short  of  the  demand,  it  will  be  easily  con- 
ceited that  it  is  no  small  comfort  to  be  supplied,  at  all 
events,  with  eggs  and  bacon,  fowls  and  ham,  within  our 
own  gates.  The  country  people  would  like  very  much 
to  see  the  Queen  among  our  mountains.  They  would 
give  her  a dinner  of  eggs  and  ham,  and  set  her  on  a 
pony,  and  show  her  every  thing.  It  is  certain  before- 
hand what  her  diet  would  be  if  she  came  incog . At  the 
little  country  inns — each  the  sole  house  of  entertainmen 


THE  POULTRY-YARD. 


33 

In  its  dale  or  water-head — you  always  know  what  you 
will  have. 

“ Can  we  have  dinner  ?” 

“Oh,  yes.” 

“What  can  you  give  us?” 

“What  you  like.” 

After  inquiring  in  vain  for  beef  or  mutton,  we  are 
told — 

“ But  there’s  ham,  and  there’s  eggs.” 

“ Very  well : and  what  else  ?” 

“ Why  there’s  eggs ; and  there’s  ham,  and  bacon.” 

If  the  Queen  came  unawares  to  some  dwellings  which 
are  not  inns,  there  might,  in  the  height  of  the  season,  be 
the  same  bill  of  fare,  and  no  other.  The  value  of  the 
resource  must  be  the  measure  of  our  gain,  under  such 
circumstances,  and  not  the  money  we  make. 

It  becomes  an  increasing  wonder  every  year  why  the 
rural  cottagers  of  the  United  Kingdom  do  not  rear  fowls 
almost  universally,  seeing  how  little  the  cost  would  be, 
and  how  great  is  the  demand.  We  import  many  mil- 
lions of  eggs  annually.  Why  should  we  import  any? 
It  seems  as  strange  as  that  Ireland  should  import 
all  its  cheese,  while  exporting  butter  largely.  After 
spending  the  morning  among  dairy-farms  in  Kerry,  you 
have  at  dinner  cheese  from  London:  and  in  the  same 
way,  after  passing  dozens  of  cottages  on  commons  or  in 
lanes  in  England,  where  the  children  have  nothing  to  do, 
and  would  be  glad  of  pets,  you  meet  a man  with  gold 
rings  in  his  ears,  who  asks  you  in  broken  English  to  buy 
eggs  from  the  continent.  Wherever  there  is  a cottage 
2* 


34 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


family,  whether  living  on  potatoes  or  better  fare,  and 
grass  growing  anywhere  near,  there  it  would  be  worth 
while  to  nail  up  a little  pent-house,  and  make  nests  of 
clean  straw,  and  go  in  for  a speculation  in  eggs  and 
chickens.  Seeds,  worms,  and  insects  go  a great  way  in 
feeding  poultry  in  such  places ; and  then  there  are  the 
small  and  refuse  potatoes  from  the  heap,  and  the  outside 
cabbage-leaves,  and  the  scraps  of  all  sorts.  Very  small 
purchases  of  broken  rice  (which  is  extremely  cheap), 
inferior  grain,  and  mixed  meal,  would  do  all  else  that  is 
necessary.  There  would  probably  be  larger  losses  from 
“ vermin”  than  in  better  guarded  places ; but  these  could 
be  well  afforded,  as  a mere  deduction  from  considerable 
gains.  It  is  understood  that  the  keeping  of  poultry  is 
largely  on  the  increase  in  the  country  generally,  and  even 
among  cottagers;  but  the  prevailing  idea  is  of  competition 
as  to  races  and  specimens  for  the  poultry-yard,  rather  than 
of  meeting  the  demand  for  eggs  and  fowls  for  the  table. 
The  pursuit  is  an  excellent  one,  and  everybody  rejoices 
at  the  growth  of  such  an  interest : but  the  laborer  and 
his  family  are  not  benefited  by  it,  as  a steady  resource, 
as  they  might  be  by  a constant  succession  of  common- 
place eggs  and  chickens,  to  be  sold  in  the  next  town.  As 
for  any  farmer  who  grows  grain  and  has  a home-field  and 
a barn,  he  must  be  badly  off  for  wife  or  daughter  if 
he  cannot  depend  on  his  poultry  for  a respectable  amount 
of  annual  profit.  We  remember  the  exultation  of  a 
German  settler  in  a Western  State  of  America,  in  speak- 
ing of  his  rise  in  life,  shown  by  his  u fifty  head  of  hen.” 
Perhaps  it  is  not  necessary  to  go  so  far  as  the  prairies  to 


THE  POULTR F- YARD . 35 

acquire  a stock  in  trade — not  so  large,  indeed,  but  profit- 
able in  equal  proportion. 

The  least  advantageous  way  of  rearing  fowls  is  just  that 
which  is  now  under  our  notice — that  of  a lady’s  poultry- 
yard  on  a small  bit  of  land  in  a populous  neighborhood. 
The  fowls  cannot  have  full  liberty ; they  must  not  tres- 
pass on  the  neighbors ; and  they  are  grievously  trespassed 
on  by  the  neighbors’  cats  and  dogs.  Yet  the  experiment 
answers  in  our  case  soundly  and  thoroughly,  through  the 
care  and  interest  invested  in  the  enterprise  by  my  com- 
panion. She  has  worked  through  many  difficulties,  and 
raised  the  project  to  paying  point,  and  beyond  it,  to  the 
comfort  of  the  household,  her  own  great  amusement  and 
that  of  her  guests,  and  the  edification  and  benefit  of  the 
servants. 

Our  average  stock  is  twenty  hens,  two  cocks,  five 
ducks,  and  one  drake.  Our  accommodation  will  not 
allow  any  large  increase  of  our  average.  The  ducks  are 
uncommonly  fine  specimens  of  the  Aylesbury  breed. 
One  cock  is  Cochin-China:  the  other  of  some  common 
sort  which  makes  less  impression  on  strangers.  A visitor 
lately  met  the  Cochin-China  sultan  in  the  drive,  and  was 
so  prodigiously  impressed  as  to  take  off  his  hat  to  his 
majesty,  who  is  indeed  too  heavy  to  be  often  met  out 
walking. 

The  ducks  were  a present,  some  years  ago,  and  the 
silk  stocking  has  become  worsted,  and  perhaps  silk  again, 
in  the  interval,  from  the  changes  necessary  to  keep  up 
the  vigor  of  the  stock.  Besides  substituting  a new 
drake  every  three  years  or  so,  we  exchange  some  brood- 


36  OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 

eggs  every  season  with  some  neighbor  who  has  the  same 
breed.  We  have  not  conveniences  for  rearing  any  great 
number  of  young  ducks,  and  prefer  selling  the  eggs,  of 
which  we  have  above  six  hundred  per  annum.  We  kill 
a few  ducks  for  our  own  table,  reckoning  their  value,  not 
at  the  London  rate,  but  at  25.  6d.  each.  In  London,  75. 
a couple  would  be  asked  for  ducks  which  would  not  have 
two-thirds  of  their  substantial  merit  when  brought  to 
table.  Our  duck  eggs  are  in  great  request  for  poaching, 
and  puddings  and  custards ; and  well  they  may  be,  for 
their  cubic  contents  must  be  nearly  double  those  of  ordi- 
nary hens’  eggs. 

It  might  be  difficult  to  say  which  is  cause  and  which 
effect  in  regard  to  our  having  two  cocks  and  two  poultry- 
yards.  The  double  arrangement  is  desirable  in  every 
way.  There  should  always  be  opportunities  for  separa- 
tion and  seclusion,  in  that  community  as  in  every  other. 
For  instance,  the  favorite  aversion  of  the  drake  is  his 
own  ducklings.  He  would  destroy  them  every  one  if  we 
did  not  separate  them  from  their  passionate  parent.  The 
whole  feathered  colony  is  at  times  so  like  the  Irish  quarter 
in  a port-town,  with  its  brawls  and  faction  fights,  that 
imprisonment  or  banishment  is  occasionally  necessary,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  an  accident-ward  for  the  victims,  on 
the  other.  We  have  one  roostiog-chamber  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  coal-shed,  and  the  other  in  the  upper  part  of 
the  pig-house,  each  opening  into  its  own  yard,  and  having 
its  ladder  without  and  its  perches  within.  In  the  small 
enclosures,  made  of  trellised  wood  and  wire  netting,  are 
pent-houses  for  the  nests,  which  should  always  be  on  the 


THE  POULTRY-YARD . 


37 


ground,  fop  the  sake  not  only  of  the  convenience  of  the 
sitting  hen,  but  of  the  vigor  of  the  brood.  The  shallow 
troughs  for  food  and  pans  for  water  make  up  the  rest  of 
the  apparatus.  The  places  should  be  swept  out  several 
times  a week,  and  strewn  with  charcoal  in  hot  weather ; 
and  there  should  always  be  soft  soil  enough  for  the  hens 
to  make  dust-baths  in,  and  gravel  enough  to  afford  them 
pebble  diet,  according  to  their  needs.  There  must  always 
be  a little  heap  of  lime  in  some  dry  corner,  if  the  egg- 
shells are  to  be  worthy  of  their  contents. 

So  much  for  what  may  be  called  the  retreats  or 
refuges  of  the  fowls  : but  their  Jives  cannot  be  passed 
there.  So  we  found.  They  must  have  a further  range. 
The  best  plan,  where  space  can  be  afforded  (which  is  not 
our  case),  is  to  lay  out  for  the  fowls  a long  strip  of  grass 
fenced  with  wire — a regular  Rotten  Row  for  their  daily 
trot,  race,  or  stately  walk.  As  the  nearest  approach  we 
could  make  to  this,  we  fenced  in  with  galvanized  wire 
netting  the  belt  of  plantation  which  adjoins  the  lower 
fowl-house.  There  they  have  room  to  run  and  make 
dust-baths,  and  strut  in  the  sun  or  repose  in  the  shade  at 
pleasure.  A deep  trough  is  sunk  there,  and  filled  with 
water  for  the  ducks  when  they  must  be  kept  at  home, 
and  for  the  ducklings,  which  are  not  allowed  to  range 
the  meadows,  because  such  liberty  is  almost  invariably 
fatal  to  them.  Whether  it  is  any  particular  food,  animal 
or  vegetable  (we  suspect  a particular  slug),  or  other 
dangers — as  entanglement  in  the  grass  and  weeds,  cramp, 
enemies,  or  what  not — it  is  very  rarely  that  ducklings  sur- 
vive an  attempt  at  a roving  life.  After  witnessing  every 


38  OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES . 

accident  now  stated,  we  believe  the  deleterious  food  to  be 
sufficient  reason  for  keeping  the  broods  at  home  till  they 
are  well  grown.  The  drake  and  his  hareem  spend  the  day 
abroad  for  several  months  of  the  year,  going  forth  into 
the  meadows — where  they  make  a seiwiceabie  clearance  of 
slugs — in  the  morning,  after  laying,  and  coming  home  in 
the  evening  for  their  supper.  While  the  grass  is  growing 
for  hay,  we  are  obliged  to  keep  them  at  home ; and  it  is 
necessary  to  watch  them  when  young  vegetables  are 
coming  up  and  fruit  is  ripening.  Nobody  would  believe 
without  seeing  it  how  high  they  can  reach  with  their  bills 
when  currants  and  gooseberries  hang  temptingly;  and  in 
their  love  of  strawberries  they  vie  with  humanity.  After 
being  kept  at  home,  the  ducks  relax  in  their  laying,  and 
their  feeding  is  expensive ; but  they  really  seem  to  go  on 
laying  longer  every  year  : so  perhaps  we  may  train  them, 
in  course  of  time,  to  be  “ equal  to  either  fortune.” 

For  the  sake  of  the  young  chicks,  we  have  yet  one 
other  enclosure  at  the  service  of  the  fowls.  There  is  a 
pretty  little  quarry  below  the  terrace  and  orchard,  from 
whence  the  stone  for  the  terrace-wall  was  taken.  A little 
wire  fence  is  now  drawn  across  the  entrance,  and  the 
young  broods  and  their  mothers  have  it  to  them- 
selves. 

Such  is  their  mode  of  life.  As  for  what  they  live  on, 
we  make  their  food  as  various  as  possible,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  cows  and  the  pig.  The  most  expensive  of  all  food 
we  find  to  be  barley  cm  naturel.  Not  only  is  a consid- 
erable proportion  thrown  about  and  wasted,  but  much 
that  is  swallowed  is  never  digested.  We,  therefore, 


TEE  POULTRY-YARD . 


39 


give  it  as  a change  and  indulgence ; and  by  no  means 
$s  the  staple  of  their  food.  Indian  meal  is  the  best 
staple,  according  to  our  experience.  It  is  well  scalded, 
that  the  swelling  may  be  done  before  it  is  swallowed, 
instead  of  after — thus  avoiding  various  maladies  and  perils 
from  over-eating.  Broken  rice  well  boiled  is  good  to  a 
certain  extent.  Malt-dust  is  a valuable  resource.  The 
demand  is  becoming  so  great  that  it  will  probably  soon 
cease  to  be  a cheap  food ; but  while  it  remains  so,  it  is  a 
real  boon,  both  to  the  fowls  and  their  owner.  They  will 
eat  almost  any  thing  that  is  sprinkled  with  malt-dust, 
and  a 65.  sack  of  it  goes  a long  way.  A certain  pro- 
portion of  green  food,  and  also  of  animal  food,  is  indis- 
pensable. Lettuce-leaves,  turnip-tops,  cabbage-leaves, 
celery,  should  be  thrown  to  them.  They  should  have 
access  to  grass,  to  pick  seeds  and  insects ; and  it  is 
well  to  put  a fresh  sod  into  the  poultry-yard  whenever 
such  a valuable  thing  can  be  spared.  All  the  worms  and 
insects  that  come  in  the  gardener’s  way  should  be  pre- 
sented to  them ; and,  when  insects  are  scarce,  scraps  of 
raw  meat,  minced  as  fine  as  pins’  heads,  should  be  given. 
Add  finely  chopped  egg  for  infant  chicks,  and  I think  the 
bill  of  fare  is  complete.  As  for  the  peppercorn,  which 
old  wives  recommend  as  the  first  thing  to  be  swallowed, 
we  reprobate  the  notion,  as  we  should  in  the  case  of  any 
other  new-born  creature.  In  fact,  it  irritates  the  crop 
very  mischievously,  if  it  gives  out  its  savor : and  if  it 
does  not  dissolve,  it  is  nothing. 

We  do  not  find  it  necessary  to  make  distinctions  of 
seasons  in  hatching  broods,  as  some  people  do.  We  like 


40 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


beginning  early,  but  we  know  what  we  may  expect  from 
frosts  and  storms  in  March,  and  are  content  with  what 
we  get.  If  we  have. not  a pretty  full  school  by  June,  we 
shake  our  heads:  but  some  July  broods  have  been  as 
fine  and  complete  as  any  others  on  our  list.  An  autumn 
brood  or  two — even  a late  one — is  valuable;  for  the 
chickens  are  short-legged,  and  make  excellent  sitters. 

By  careful  management,  my  companion  has  succeeded 
in  distributing  the  moulting  over  a considerable  space  of 
time,  and  therefore  in  obtaining  eggs  in  early  winter. 
We  have  them  now  throughout  the  year.  We  lay  by  a 
hundred  or  more  in  lime-water  in  the  most  plentiful  sea- 
son, for  puddings  in  the  time  of  scarcity ; and  then  our 
small  supply  of  November  and  December  eggs  is  dis- 
posable for  invalids,  or  other  neighbors  anxious  to  secure 
the  delicacy. 

Under  this  mode  of  management,  our  fowl  account  has 
stood  thus  for  the  last  two  years : — 

In  1857,  we  paid  for  food  £17  Is.  8 c?. ; and  for  improve- 
ments in  the  hen-house,  £1  15$.;  that  is,  our  expenses 
were  £18  16$.  8c?. ; eggs  and  fowls  used  and  sold  were 
worth  £18  4$.  2c?.;  ten  chickens  and  one  young  cock  in 
stock,  £1  5$.;  making  £19  9$.  2c?.;  which  shows  our 
profit  to  have  been  12$.  6c?.;  in  1858,  the  cost  of  food 
was  £16  8$.  2c?.;  and  of  improvement  of  stock,  11$.  9c?. ; 
together  making  £16  19$.  11c?.;  while  our  sales  and  use 
yielded  £17  10$.  6c?.;  our  profit,  therefore,  being  10$.  7 cl. 
London  prices  would  have  enriched  us  mightily ; for  we 
had  3,039  eggs,  and  killed  sixty-three  fowls  (including  a 
few  ducks).  Within  a dozen  miles  of  the  General  Post- 


THE  POULTRY-YARD. 


41 


Office,  our  produce  would  have  been  worth  above  £30 ; 
but  it  must  be  remembered  that,  in  regard  to  our  domes- 
tic consumption,  we  have  the  benefit  of  the  country  prices. 
As  it  is,  we  have  a balance  on  the  right  side,  instead  of 
the  wrong,  after  all  accidents  and  misfortunes  are  allowed 
for. 

Those  accidents  are  not  only  vexatious  but  grievous. 
The  finest  young  cock  we  had  ever  reared  was  found 
dead  and  stiff  one  morning.  His  crop,  alas ! was  full  of 
ivy-leaves,  which  he  had  reached  and  snatched  from  the 
wall  of  the  house,  by  some  vigorous  climbing  out  of 
bounds.  Chicks,  and  even  hens,  now  and  then  are 
cramped  by  change  of  weather,  or  other  mysterious 
causes.  If  observed  in  time,  they  may  be  recovered  by 
warmth,  friction,  and  apparently  by  the  unaccountable 
influence  of  the  human  hand;  but  if  they  hide  their 
trouble  they  will  be  found  dead.  A stray  duckling  may 
lose  itself  in  tall  grass  as  in  a jungle.  A chick  may  be 
found  drowned  in  an  inch  or  two  of  water  in  a pan.  At 
one  time  a hawk  haunted  us,  and  we  either  missed  a 
chicken  occasionally,  or  found  it  dropped,  with  a hole  in 
its  breast.  Rats  are  to  be  expected  wherever  a lake  or 
river  is  near ; but  they  are  easily  disposed  of  by  taking  up 
a flag,  and,  when  their  runs  are  traced,  putting  down 
strychnine  on  bread  and  butter.  Nowhere  but  under 
pavement  should  that  poison  be  placed,  because  it  may  be 
swallowed  by  some  other  creature  than  a rat : but  in  a 
subterranean  way  it  is  very  useful.  We  have  never  made 
war  in  that  way,  as  some  people  do,  against  the  sparrows 
and  chaffinches,  which  really  are  a nuisance.  Where  a 


42 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


house  is  covered  with  ivy  and  climbing  plants,  and  shel- 
tered by  copses,  and  where  fowls  are  fed  in  the  open 
air,  freebooting  tribes  of  birds  will  be  encroaching  and 
audacious.  We  fear  that  a large  portion  of  our  good 
meal  and  grain  goes  to  glut  our  enemies  in  the  ivy  and 
the  trees.  But  what  can  we  do  ? We  make  nets  to  cover 
our  sprouting  vegetables  and  ripening  fruit,  and  that  is 
ail  we  can  do.  But  about  the  accidents.  The  worst  are 
from  prowling  cats.  The  ladies  of  the  Four  Acres  lost 
eight  chickens  by  cats  in  one  night,  and  we  have  lost  eight 
chickens  by  cats  in  one  day.  Such  a thing  as  the  destruc- 
tion of  poultry  by  the  neighbors’  cats  ought  never  to 
happen  when  it  is  once  known  how  easy  prevention  is. 
We  educate  our  own  cat,  and  that  at  the  cottage;  and  if 
the  neighbors  would  do  the  same,  there  would  be  an  end 
everywhere  to  the  loss  and  discontent  and  ill-will  which 
arise  from  this  cause.  When  a cat  is  seen  to  catch  a 
chicken,  tie  it  round  her  neck,  and  make  her  wear  it  for 
two  or  three  days.  Fasten  it  securely ; for  she  will  make 
incredible  efforts  to  get  rid  of  it.  Be  firm  for  that  time, 
and  the  cat  is  cured.  She  will  never  again  desire  to  touch 
a bird.  This  is  what  we  do  with  our  own  cats,  and  what 
we  recommend  to  our  neighbors ; and  when  they  try  the 
experiment,  they  and  their  pets  are  secure  from  reproach 
and  danger  henceforth.  Wild,  homeless,  hungry,  ragged, 
savage  cats  are  more  difficult  to  catch;  but  they  are  out- 
laws, and  may  be  shot  with  the  certainty  that  all  neighbors 
will  be  thankful. 

My  entire  poultry-yard,  except  a few  of  the  old  hens  on 
the  perches,  was  in  danger  of  destruction  by  an  accident 


THE  POULTRY-YARD . 


43 


one  summer  night,  and  was  saved  by  what  I cannot  but 
consider  a remarkable  exercise  of  energy  on  the  part  of  my 

companion,  M . Few  persons  in  the  north  of  England 

will  ever  forget  the  thunder-storm  on  the  night  of  the  24th 
of  July,  1857.  At  11  p.  m.,  the  rain  came  down  in  one 
sheet,  instantly  flooding  the  level  ground  to  the  depth  of 
more  than  a foot,  and  the  continuous  thunder  seemed  to 
crack  on  one’s  very  skull,  wThile  the  blue  lightning  never 
intermitted  for  two  seconds  for  above  an  hour.  The 
heat  was  almost  intolerable.  Our  maids,  however,  who 
keep  very  early  hours,  were  sleeping  through  it  all,  when 

M escorted  me  (very  feeble  from  illness)  up  stairs, 

settled  me  with  my  book  in  my  easy  chair,  and  bade  me 
Good-night. 

Presently  I drew  up  a window-blind,  to  see  the  light- 
ning better  from  my  seat.  In  the  midst  of  its  blue  blazes 
there  was,  more  than  once,  a yellow  flicker  on  the  win- 
dow-frame which  I could  not  understand.  I went  to 
look  out,  and  saw  a yellow  light  whisking  about  far 
below,  sometimes  in  the  quarry,  and  then  mounting  or 

descending  the  terrace  steps.  It  was  M , saving  the 

fowls.  She  would  not  allow  the  maids,  who  were  stir- 
ring enough  now,  to  go  out  straight  from  their  beds  into 
the  storm ; and  she  knew  it  was  useless  to  call  the  man 
from  the  cottage,  who  was  a mere  encumbrance  on 
critical  occasions.  In  fact,  he  and  his  wife  were  at  that 
moment  entirely  persuaded  that  the  end  of  the  world  was 
come.  It  was  no  form  of  speech,  but  their  real  convic- 
tion ; and  it  could  not  have  been  asked  of  them  to  care 
about  ducks  and  chickens.  The  maids  were  lighting  a 


44 


OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES. 


fire  in  the  back  kitchen,  and  strewing  the  floor  with 

straw,  while  M was  out  in  dress  which  could  not  be 

spoiled,  lantern,  basket,  and  apron.  Some  of  the  hens  and 
chickens  were  too  cramped  to  move,  sitting  in  the  water. 
Some  were  taking  refuge  in  the  shrubs.  Two  ducklings 

were  dead,  and  two  more  died  afterwards.  M went 

again  and  again,  and  to  both  the  poultry-yards,  and 
brought  up  forty  fowls, — all  that  were  in  danger,  every 
one  of  which  would  have  been  dead  before  morning. 
Of  course  she  had  not  a dry  thread  about  her,  nor  a dry 
hair  on  her  head;  but  the  wetting  was  a trifle  in  com- 
parison with  the  bewildering,  effect  of  the  thunder  and 
lightning  in  such  a midnight.  She  did  not  suffer  for  it 
more  or  less,  and  our  poultry-yard  was  saved.  The  poor 
fowls  were  dried  and  rubbed,  and  made  comfortable  on 
their  straw.  A few  were  delicate  for  a little  while,  but 
only  five  died  in  all.  It  was  not  the  pecuniary  loss  which 

M dreaded,  but  the  destruction  of  her  whole  school 

of  dependents,  and  the  total  discouragement  which  must 
have  followed  such  a catastrophe.  If  the  deluge  had 
destroyed  the  colony  that  night,  we  should  have  had  no 
more  to  tell  of  our  poultry-yard.  As  it  is,  we  have  con- 
templated the  proceedings  of  our  hens  and  broods  ever 
since  with  a stronger  interest  than  ever  before. 

When  a neighbor  here  and  there  said,  UI  would  have 
let  all  the  fowls  of  the  air  perish  before  I would  have 
gone  out  on  such  a night,”  we  think  these  friends  of  ours 
have  yet  to  learn  the  pleasure  and  true  interest  of  a rural 
charge,  like  that  of  a poultry-yard. 

This  is  an  impression  often  renewed  in  regard,  not 


THE  POULTRY-YARD. 


45 


only  to  the  poultry-yard,  but  to  all  the  interests  involved 
in  a genuine  country  life.  The  ladies  of  the  Four-Acre 
Farm  tell  us  of  a visitor  of  theirs  who  could  not  conceive 
that  women  who  can  make  butter  could  care  for  books. 
She  wondered  at  their  subscribing  to  Mudie’s.  This  is, 
to  be  sure,  the  very  w^orst  piece  of  ignorance  of  country 
life  and  its  influences  that  I ever  read  of;  but  it  is  only 
an  exaggeration  of  a sentiment  very  common  in  both  town 
and  country.  Some  country  as  well  as  town  gentry  may 
say  to  us  miniature  farmers,  “What  is  the  use  of  so 
much  doing  for  so  little  profit?  A few  shillings,  or  a 
few  pounds,  or  a certain  degree  of  domestic  comfort  and 
luxury, — this  is  all ; and  is  it  worth  while  ?” 

“No,  this  is  not  all,”  we  reply.  When  we  say  what 
more  there  is,  it  will  be  for  others  to  decide  for  them- 
selves whether  it  is  worth  while  to  use  small  portions  of 
land,  or  to  leave  them  undeveloped.  It  is  a grave  and 
yet  a cheerful  consideration  that  the  maintenance  of  our 
man  and  his  wife  is  absolutely  created  by  our  plan  of 
living ; and  it  is  worth  something  that  the  same  may  be 
said  of  several  animals  which  are  called  into  existence  by 
it.  As  for  ourselves  and  our  servants,  our  domestic  luxu- 
ries are  the  smallest  benefit  we  derive  from  our  out-door 
engagements.  We  should  under  no  circumstances  be  an 
idle  household.  We  have  abundance  of  social  duties  and 
literary  pleasures,  in  parlor  and  kitchen  ; but  these  are 
promoted,  and  not  hindered,  by  our  out-door  interests. 
The  amount  of  knowledge  gained  by  actual  handling  of 
the  earth  and  its  productions,  and  by  personal  interest  in 
the  economy  of  agriculture,  even  on  the  smallest  scale, 


46  OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES . 

is  greater  than  any  inconsiderate  person  would  suppose; 
and  the  exercise  of  a whole  range  of  faculties  on  practical 
objects,  which  have  no  sordidness  in  them,  is  a valuable 
and  most  agreeable  method  of  adult  education. 

Whoever  grows  any  thing  feels  a new  interest  in  every 
thing  that  grows , and,  as  to  the  mood  of  mind  in  which 
the  occupation  is  pursued,  it  is,  to  town-bred  women, 
singularly  elevating  and  refining.  To  have  been  reared 
in  a farm-house,  remote  from  society  and  books,  and 
ignorant  of  every  thing  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  parish, 
is  one  thing ; and  to  pass  from  an  indolent  or  a literary 
life  in  town  to  rural  pursuits,  adopted  with  a purpose,  is 
another.  In  the  first  case,  the  state  of  mind  may  be 
narrow,  dull,  and  coarse ; in  the  latter,  it  should  naturally 
be  expansive,  cheery,  and  elevated.  The  genuine  poetry 
of  man  and  nature  invests  an  intellectual  and  active 
life  in  the  open  universe  of  rural  scenery.  If  list- 
less young  ladies  from  any  town  in  England  could  witness 
the  way  in  which  hours  slip  by  in  tending  the  garden, 
and  consulting  about  the  crops,  and  gathering  fruit  and 
flowers,  they  would  think  there  must  be  something  in  it 
more  than  they  understand.  If  they  would  but  try  their 
hand  at  making  a batch  of  butter,  or  condescend  to 
gather  eggs,  and  court  acquaintance  with  hens  and  their 
broods,  or  assume  the  charge  of  a single  nest  from  the 
hen  taking  her  seat  to  the  maturity  of  the  brood,  they 
would  find  that  life  has  pleasures  for  them  that  they 
knew  not  of, — pleasures  that  have  as  much  “ romance” 
and  u poetry”  about  them  as  any  book  in  Mudie’s  library. 
“ But  the  time !”  say  some.  “ How  can  you  spare  the 


THE  POULTRY-YARD. 


47 


time?”  Well!  what  is  it?  People  must  have  bodily 
exercise,  in  town  or  country,  or  they  cannot  live  in  health, 
if  they  can  live  at  all.  Why  should  country-folk  have 
nothing  better  than  the  constitutional  walk  which  is  the 
duty  and  pleasure  of  townsfolk?  Sometimes  there  is 
not  half  an  hour’s  occupation  in  the  field  or  garden  in  the 
day ; and  then  is  the  occasion  for  an  extended^  ramble 
over  the  hills.  On  other  days,  two,  three,  four  hours  slip 
away,  and  the  morning  is  gone  unawares : and  why  not  ? 
The  things  done  are  useful ; the  exercise  is  healthful  and 
exhilarating — in  every  way  at  least  as  good  as  a walk  for 
health’s  sake;  and  there  is  the  rest  of  the  day  for  books, 
pen,  and  needle.  The  fact  is,  the  out-door  amusements 
leave  abundance  of  time,  and  ever-renewed  energy  for 
the  life  of  books,  the  pen,  and  domestic  and  social  offices 
of  duty  and  love. 

Let  those  ladies  whose  lot  it  is  to  live  in  the  country 
consider  whether  they  shall  lead  a town  or  a country  life 
there.  A town  life  in  the  country  is  perhaps  the  lowest 
of  all.  It  is  having  eyes  which  see  not — ears  which  hear 
not — -and  minds  which  do  not  understand.  A lady  who 
had  lived  from  early  childhood  in  a country  house  politely 
looked  into  my  poultry-yard  when  it  was  new,  and  ran 
after  me  with  a warm  compliment. 

“ What  a beautiful  hen  you  have  there ; — what  beau- 
ful  long  feathers  in  its  tail !” 

“ Why,  S ,”  said  I,  “that  is  the  cock  !” 

“ O — oh — oh !”  said  she,  “ I did  not  know.” 

Mr.  Howitt  tells  us  somewhere  of  a guest  of  his  who, 
seeing  a goose  and  her  fourteen  goslings  on  a common, 


48  OUR  FARM  OF  TWO  ACRES . 

thought  it  must  be  very  exhausting  to  the  bird  to  suckle 
so  many  young  ones.  To  women  who  do  not  know  a 
cock  from  a hen,  or  green  crops  from  white,  or  fruit-trees 
from  forest-trees,  or  how  to  produce  herb,  flower,  root, 
or  fruit  from  the  soil,  it  would  be  new  life  to  turn  up  the 
ground  which  lies  about  them.  Miniature  farming  would, 
in  that  very  common  case,  not  only  create  the  material 
subsistence  of  the  servants  employed,  but  develop  the 
mind  and  heart  of  the  employer.  This,  and  not  the 
money  made,  is  the  true  consideration  when  the  ques- 
tion arises, — What  shall  a woman  do  with  two  or  four 
acres  ? 


THE  END. 


♦ 


BUNCE  & HUNTINGTON, 

PUBLISHERS, 

NO.  540,  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK,  j 

j 

Messrs.  Bunce  & Huntington  have  in  preparation  new  editions  of  those 
elegant  books  (recently  issued  by  Mr.  James  G.  Gregory),  known  as  the 
u Golden  Leaves  Series.” 

I. 

GOLDEN  LEAVES  FROM  THE  AMERICAN  POETS. 

Collected  by  John  W.  S.  Hows. 

II. 

GOLDEN  LEAVES  FROM  THE  BRITISH  POETS. 

In  elegant  uniform  volumes,  printed  on  toned  paper,  and  bound  in  green 
vellum  cloth,  bevelled  boards,  gilt  top.  i6mo,  560  pp.  Price,  $2.50  each. 

These  two  volumes  combined,  afford,  it  is  believed,  the  most  complete  and  desira- 
ble selection  of  British  and  American  poetry  that  has  yet  been  made.  The  extreme 
elegance  of  the  volumes,  in  paper,  printing,  and  binding,  commend  them  to  persons 
of  taste  and  culture. 

The  Publishers  have  in  preparation  a third  volume  of  the  series,  to  be  en- 
titled 

GOLDEN  LEAVES  FROM  THE  DRAMATIC  POETS. 

The  selections  will  include  the  most  notable  passages  and  scenes  in  the 
poetical  dramas  of  the  principal  English  and  American  dramatists.  It  will 
be  issued  uniformly  in  style  and  size  with  the  preceding  volumes. 

Messrs.  B.  & H.  have  also  in  press : 

I. 

THE  MECHANIC’S,  MACHINIST’S,  AND  ENGINEER’S  PRAC-“ 
TICAL  BOOK  OF  REFERENCE.  By  Charles  Haslett,  Civil  En- 
gineer. Edited  by  Charles  W.  Hackley,  late  Professor  of  Mathematics 
in  Columbia  College,  N.  Y.  A new  edition. 

II. 

PARSON  AND  PEOPLE ; or,  Incidents  in  the  Every-Day  Life  of 
a Clergyman.  By  the  Rev.  Edward  Spooner,  M.  A.,  Vicar  of  Heston, 
Middlesex.  From  the  Second  London  Edition,  with  a Preface  by  an 
American  Clergyman. 

A book  of  rare  beauty,  pathos,  and  humor,  and  of  uncommon  interest  for  both 
clergymen  and  laymen.  It  leads  the  reader,  alternately  in  smiles  and  in  tears, 
through  the  diverse  scenes  of  a London  suburban  parish,  and  leaves  him  with  a mul- 
titude of  fresh  and  ingenious  suggestions,  and  a quickened  zeal,  for  Christian  labor. 

Contents:— A Suburban  Parish— Our  Institutions— Our  Bagged  Schools— School 
Chapels — The  Begging  Parson— Pictures— Pastoral  Visits.  {Ready  April  1st.) 


i 


